Before I Go
by steelvenommum
Summary: Irene Adler drops in for a visit at 221B. chapter 1 is basically fluff. Suggestions of what is to come. Some angst. I'm not sure where it came from. I'm sorry!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

(author's note: This is my first fic and as such, might seem odd. feedback apprectiated! I set this for just before TRF, it seems to work best in my head. Enjoy!)

Her heels click as she steps onto the first stair. Overhead, the violin pauses. She smiles, and hits Send. A moan, hers of course, sounds down the stairs. She continues up the stairs.

Irene swings the door open to 221B. She smiles at John, and gestures to the door. "I believe you were on your way out?"

"What, now?" John says, looking at his half eaten plate. He grumbles to himself as he gets his coat. As he makes his way out he glances at Sherlock, silhouetted against the window. He hadn't moved from where he had stood, playing in front of the window. "I'll be back later, Sherlock."

"Oh I wouldn't bother coming back until at least tomorrow, John. We'll be quite busy until then" Irene said softly, eyes locked on Sherlock. The door swings shut behind her, as Sherlock finally turns away from the window. Irene steps forward, her long coat parting slightly. Sherlock's eyes lock onto her long, stocking-clad leg, bare as far as he could see.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asks in his deep, made for sex voice. "Wait, let me see. You are here in an attempt to seduce me, you've wanted to since the beginning and now this just proves it more. But why now, what is the new factor? Long coat, new. Heels, you're favorite pair, going by the wear. not much under that new coat. Hmmm. You're leaving soon aren't you? Probably permanently. So you thought you would give this one last shot. And you're prepared to do what you have to, including paying off John. Well I suppose I might be persuaded." He steps towards her, smirking slightly. "It depends on what is under that coat."

Irene looks up at him wondering to herself what it was about him that makes her brain shut down. She starts to wonder what it would be like to just give in, allow herself to be ravished by the tall, lean consulting detective. Suddenly she mentally shakes herself awake.

"Correct on all counts but one. I didn't pay John. I just asked nicely. And maybe set him up with a lovely girl I know, named Mary. I think they'll get along well." She smirked. "And as for what is under this coat, are you sure you'd like to know?" Almost purring as she closed the distance between them, looking up at Sherlock.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

||Authors note: I'm so sorry this took so long! With the holidays, and my muse being mean, I've had some problems with this chapter. I'll try to do better. Please review! Thank you for reading my fic! ||

Her hands reach up as if to grasp his lapels. He smoothly intercepts her, running his hands from her wrists up to her shoulders. Continuing to move his hands, he gripped the lapels of her coat, pulling her flush against his body.

He bent down and whispered in her ear. "Your pulse still jumps when I touch you. I wonder what else will happen tonight?" He was loosening the belt of her coat as he spoke. Slipping it through the buckle, he paused, looking into Irene's eyes. "And look at how dilated your eyes just got." He smirked.

She decided to even the odds. Her hands slipped under his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. Looking up at him, she quickly and deftly let her hair down. Sherlock's eyes widen slightly as the woody, oriental, scent of her perfume drifts around him. Knowing she has the advantage, she seizes the opportunity to finally press her lips against him. He starts, and then masterfully takes control of the kiss. His left hand comes up to grip the back of Irene's neck, while his right pulls her firmly into the curve of his body. Irene finally lets go, just a little bit and relaxes into Sherlock's embrace.

Just as suddenly as he took control, Sherlock pushes her to arm's length. His lush lips reddened by their kissing, his breathing slightly shaky. "Are you quite sure you want this, like this?" he asks Irene, suddenly uncertain. "It could be different for us—"

"Mr. Holmes, I'm quite sure this is what I want. And as for how, we really haven't gotten there yet, have we?" She kept her tone light, trying to diffuse the sudden tension. What he was suggesting was dangerous. Neither of them could afford to take that road, no matter how tempting it was.

She roughly pushed him into a chair, deciding to take charge before she—or he, lost their nerve. Starting at the top, she began to unbutton her coat. Slowly, one button at a time, as if she were unwrapping a gift, just for him. His mind visibly went blank, as the blood red corset she is wearing comes into view. Pleased that she still has this effect on him, she begins to step forward.

Sherlock jumps out of the chair as if it's on fire. Reaching out to her, he slips the coat down from her shoulders, to pool at her feet. Pulling her against him, he kissed her again. His hands were exploring her, feeling the smooth satin of the corset, running along the enhanced curves of her waist. He broke off, only to pull her towards the bedroom. Crowding her, as if she'll run away, he moves her to the bedroom.

She turns to face him after stepping over the threshold. She looks into his eyes and gasps at the intensity and focus there. All of his considerable mind power is focused on her, on this moment, and she is again reminded of why she wants to stay here forever.

A knock at the door interrupts her thoughts. "Go away!" Sherlock yells without even looking.

"Sherlock you need to come with me right now!" Lestrade yells back. "Its rather important, otherwise I wouldn't be here." He adds in a normal voice.

"Stay here, don't move, I'm going to get rid of him." Sherlock closes his eyes for a moment, seeming to gather himself. Then he turns and strides for the door, irritated at the interruption. Jerking it open, he snapped at the dective inspector. "Give me the files, I'll get back with you in the morning." Holding out his hand imperiously, he paused. Studying Lestrade, he was startled to notice that he looked rather pale. "What happened? Why are you so pale?"

Steeling himself, Lestrade looked into the last pair of eyes he wanted to see right now. "Its John. There was an accident—"

As his mind snapped back into focus, Sherlock simply turned, got his coat, and followed Lestrade out. A few minutes later, a moan split the tense air around the two men.

**I'll be waiting**

**IA**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

||Author's note: Hi guys! I believe it's time to resolve some of this tension, don't you? But first, what happened to John!? Please leave me reviews! I love them and you!||

"What happened to John?" Sherlock demanded as the waited for a cab. Standing on the side of the roadway, He studied Lestrade, trying to get a nuance of the problem. Lestrade wouldn't meet his eyes, never a good sign.

"All I know for sure is that there was an accident. Also, he apparently got hit while saving a woman named Mary from being hit. From what I could understand, he pushed her out of the way of the car." Lestrade sighed. "Ever the hero, isn't he?"

They finally flagged down a cab. "St. Bart's please." Lestrade turned back to Sherlock, finally meeting his eyes. "I don't know how severe his injuries are. I really don't know anything."

Sherlock nodded and turned to stare out the window. The rest of the ride passed in silence as both Lestrade and Sherlock thought about their friend lying in the hospital. Sherlock was wondering why everything always seemed to happen at once. He knew that it wasn't so, but he couldn't help but wonder. Lestrade was worried about John, and his marriage. His team at work was eating itself from the inside, thanks to Sally and Anderson. He really didn't have a clue what to do about any of it. For the first time, he felt at a loss for what to do.

The cab pulled up to the hospital. Getting out, Sherlock pulled out a 20£ note and gave it to the cabbie, telling him to keep the change. They walked briskly through the door, Lestrade showing his badge to the nurse at the desk before asking about John.

"Oh, he just came out of intensive care, he's in room 221." She said pointing to the elevator.

Lestrade just stared at her for a second. "Well that's not at all ironic. Thank you." He turned and walked briskly to the elevator, Sherlock in his wake. A well-dressed blonde woman got in the elevator with them, pushing the 2nd floor button.

She turned to Lestrade,"My name is Mary Morstan; I was on a date with John when he pushed me out of the way of the car. They won't let me in to see him. Can I kind of tag along with you?"

Sherlock turned to her in surprise. "You're Mary?" he looked her over much closer this time. He noted that she was worried, evidenced by her pale skin, and her lips had been rubbed almost raw from her worrying them as she sat waiting. Her dress was fashionable, but not the highest mode, suggesting an average budget. Rather small, but strong for her size from the looks of it. "Why are you so worried about John? You've only just met him." He continued, watching her reaction closely.

Mary blushed and smiled a bit to herself. "Do you believe in love at first sight, Mr. Holmes? Wait, of course you wouldn't. Well if it isn't love, it is something special. I care about him, even though I'm just getting to know him. Now, may I accompany you?" She drew herself up and looked him straight in the eye, daring him to say no.

Sherlock stared at her for a second before turning to the front of the elevator. "You can come with us." He replied shortly. He smiled to himself. He liked Mary, not many people had the courage to stand up to Sherlock in a good mood, let alone a day like today.

"Thank you!" She grinned at him.

The elevator arrived, and they stepped off. Turning left as the sign indicated, they walked to John's room in silence. Lestrade opened the door, and led them in. John was propped up on his bed, looking slightly disoriented. He had a bandage wrapped around his head, and a cast on his left arm. Sherlock strode to his side, John struggling to follow him with his eyes and focus on him.

"John, what happened? What is your diagnosis?" Sherlock looked him over himself. Looking into his eyes he noticed the dilated eyes, the flushed skin as John struggled to focus on him. A concussion then. And a broken arm from the looks of it. Sherlock looked at Lestrade, "get a nurse in here, I wish to know his prognosis."

Lestrade turned to the door as a nurse came bustling in.

"What are you lot doing in here? He shouldn't have visitors yet. You need to—"

Lestrade pulled out his badge, showing it to the nurse. "We're close friends of Mr. Watson. We'd like the diagnosis please."

The nurse stared at them for a moment, completely at a loss for words. "Well he's got a concussion, as well as a broken arm, and possibly cracked ribs. He'll have to stay overnight but he should make a full recovery. He really needs to rest, he is on painkillers now, probably not very coherent at the moment. It's after visiting hours now, you'll have to leave. Come back and see him in the morning." She stated firmly, motioning them towards the door.

Lestrade looked at Sherlock, expecting him to protest, or refuse. Sherlock simply swept out the door, leaving Mary and Lestrade to follow in his wake. He turned to the nurse outside of the door. "Call this number if there is any change in his condition. At all." He handed her his card. She started to protest, and then looked at the card.

"Of course Mr. Holmes. He really should be fine. The pain killers are more for his ribs and arm than anything. I'll make a note on his chart to call you with any changes."

Sherlock turned away, back towards the elevator. Lestrade caught up with him, catching his arm.

"I've never known you to just walk away like that, especially from John. What's with you today, Sherlock?" Lestrade questioned him, pulling him to a stop.

Sherlock looked down at the hand on his arm before raising his eyes to meet Lestrade's. "He's going to be fine. He did something fairly stupid, yes. But for once the doctors were competent and got it right. They have my number to call. Now I must be going. Thank you for coming to get me and telling me about John." He pulled his arm from Lestrade and continued down the hallway. Once in the elevator alone, he pulled out his phone.

**To: The Woman**

**You didn't move did you?**

**SH**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

||Author's note: Hey guys! Thank you so much for reviewing! It's seriously the most amazing motivation ever! Floratang, maybe. I work things through literally as I write it, no forethought really….I'm going to try to get ahead, so I can update more frequently and regularly. Please review! I love you all! ||

Irene sat on the edge of the bed, looking around, and waiting for Sherlock to come back. He had left about 2 hours ago. She had already made herself tea, chatted with Mrs. Hudson, and explored most of the flat. She was considering leaving. Had it been a mistake to come here? Was she wrong about the infamous Sherlock Holmes? He did tell everyone he was married to his work, after all.

Irene stood, preparing to leave. Suddenly, violin music filled the flat. Sherlock never knew she recorded it one day, and it made her smile when he texted her. Looking at her screen, she read:

**From: Sherlock Holmes**

**You didn't move did you?**

**SH**

She smiled to herself, quickly typed out a reply, and sat back down.

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**It's been two hours, I explored a bit. **

**IA**

Irene thought about Sherlock. About his eyes, always changing. His lips, soft yet firm. How he looked at her. And mostly, how she felt when he looked at her. Here, in the quiet, still house it was possible to admit, just to herself, that she very possibly loved him. She knew how he felt about sentiment like that. And she needed to disappear. She couldn't afford the sentiment either. Lost in thought, she tried to shake off her mood.

20 minutes later, Irene heard the door open quietly. She quickly stood and moved to stand behind the door. Thinking to scare him, she remained completely still and quiet.

Sherlock stepped into the flat, and stopped. There was no sound from anywhere. He looked around confused. He closed his eyes, and used all of his senses to find her. He took a deep breath, her perfume was still here, strong enough that she would be too. He heard a slight shift from his bedroom. With that, he had her. He opened his eyes, and walked to his room.

Pausing in the doorway, he took out his phone.

**To: The Woman**

**I know you're in here.**

**SH**

Violin music played from behind the door. It took Sherlock only seconds to realize that it was one of his compositions. He closed the door and cocked his head, looking at Irene.

"That's mine." He stated simply. He quickly realized that she must have recorded him playing one day without him knowing. "Why did you record me playing?"

Irene wouldn't quite meet his eyes. "I just thought it was beautiful. So I thought I would record it." She said, just a slight edge of defensiveness to her tone.

"And yet it is set as your ringtone. I'd say that it is mine, specifically. Is that sentiment I'm hearing from you? The Woman? What happened to the woman that brushed me off so easily earlier?" Sherlock inquired. Normally this wouldn't matter to him, would only make him think she was weak. But Irene was different. She had nearly beaten him. To him, that was the best kind of foreplay out there. He couldn't help himself. He thought she might be able to keep up with him, and more importantly, not bore him.

"Now Mr. Holmes, You and I both know that sentiment is a weakness. How should a violin composition change that?" Irene just looked at him steadily.

Sherlock wasn't fooled. He had heard the hitch in her breath, watched her uncertainty flicker across her face. He crowded her back into the wall, tired of this verbal dance. Capturing her face in his hands, he crushed his lips to hers. He slipped his hands down and grabbed her by the waist, lifting her and pressing her back into the wall. He groaned as her legs wrapped around his waist, pressing her body flush against him.

He pulled back, and began kissing her neck, just behind her ear, nipping just slightly. Irene moaned breathlessly. Her hands roamed over his back, grasping, tugging, and eager to feel more of him.

Sherlock moved her from the wall to the bed, laying her down gently. He settled on top of her, pressing his weight into her and kissing her again. Irene pushed the coat from his shoulders, feeling the rough material slide down his strong arms to pool on the floor.

Still kissing and exploring each other, Irene ran her fingers through Sherlock's rough dark curls, tugging slightly. She was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath. A low rumble came from Sherlock. Irene pulled back, startled. "Did you just growl at me?" she asked, intrigued and aroused.

Sherlock's eyes flicked up to hers momentarily. They were dark with arousal, and seemed to look into her soul. He looked back to where he had been kissing her neck, as if deciding something. Without replying, he kissed her neck again. He continued down, to the top edge of her corset. He moved to unclasp the busk.

"Stop. You'll ruin it. Let me do it." Irene pushed him up, and stood. Letting her coat slide down her arms, to become a soft puddle of dark wool. She turned her back to Sherlock, and slowly began untying and loosening the laces of her corset.

Sherlock stepped up to help her, taking over loosening the laces. When they were fully loosened, He turned Irene towards him gently. She unfastened the busk, and began to pull it from her body. Sherlock stopped her, lightly taking the corset in his large hands, unwrapping it from her. He turned and hung it from the back of a chair, before turning back and pressing her nearly naked body into his as he kissed her.

Irene pushed Sherlock back and started to unbutton his silky, purple shirt. Pulling it off of him rather roughly, she had decided to take charge. Pushing him back towards the bed, she straddled his legs and began kissing him, first his mouth, trailing down his neck, all the way to his chest. She slipped further down his body, starting to undo his belt.

Sherlock had started growling again, and translated it into the physical by taking sudden, agile control by flipping Irene onto her back and settling between her legs. She felt the thick length of him at her core and gasped as he pressed forward.

He began kissing her again, going down her neck, and further. Pausing to swirl his tongue around her nipples, he worshipped her body with his mouth. Sliding further down, he eased her panties down her thighs, over her calves and onto the floor. He kissed his way back up her legs, lips feathering across her thighs, his breath a warm, tingling rush across her sensitive skin.

Sliding back up over her body, he kissed her as he pressed his full length into her. Irene gasped out his name as she felt his body against hers. Pulling him closer, she urged him on.

A long while later as they lay together, Irene's head on his chest, Sherlock asked the question that had been on his mind for a while now. "If you thought we could have a chance, would you take it?" he rasped slightly as he asked, the only hint of emotion in his tone.

"If I thought there was a chance of safety for everyone, maybe. But I don't see that chance anytime soon."

||Another author's note. In light of the recent tom-fuckery going around with Caitlin Moran and such, I must say that while the Sherlock show and characters are not mine, this interpretation and these words are mine. Please don't use them without permission. I don't think you would, but I like to be safe.||


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Irene leaned down and kissed Sherlock's cheek as she started to step away. "Goodbye, Mr. Holmes. I'm sorry I can't stay." He stirred in his sleep, looking troubled. She watched him for a moment, memorizing him. Then she turned away. She walked down the stairs for the last time.

Sherlock woke slowly, reveling in the memories of last night. He reached out for Irene, feeling the cold sheets next to him. Sherlock snapped awake and sat up. He looked around for any evidence of her. There was a tube of lipstick on the nightstand. He picked it up and looked at it, knowing she had left it as a memento. He looked at the color and chuckled to himself. _The woman,_ how fitting.

Sherlock rose and began to dress, slowly, with care for his surprisingly sore muscles. His phone began to ring in his coat pocket. He picked it up, not recognizing the number.

"Mr. Holmes?" a voice tentatively asked. "You said to call with any changes?"

"Yes I did, what has happened? Has he worsened?" Sherlock asked briskly, pulling on his coat and scarf.

"Well no sir, Mr. Watson is feeling much better. In fact he's in a right state and won't stop cursing about you not being here and all."

"Well tell him I'm on my way." Pocketing the phone and the lipstick, he swept out the door.

Sherlock walked out the door, and paused on the step. He thought about calling Mary, and then decided if she didn't already know, she could find out on her own. He made his way to the hospital, ready to see John and possibly get him home where he belonged.

He exited the cab and swept into the hospital, by passing the front desk and walking straight to the elevator. He exited on John's floor into chaos. There were nurses everywhere, John was swearing and looking fit to kill someone, and one rather harried looking doctor ordering someone to get him some sedatives.

Sherlock took one look, grabbed John, and physically drug him back to his bed. Forcing him to lie down, Sherlock caught hold of John's head, and forced him to look at him.

"I'm here now John. You need to stop before the doctor decides to sedate you. With any luck you'll get out today, but not if you insist on acting like a child." Sherlock stated simply.

"Sherlock! Where the bloody hell have you been? Why am I in the hospital? What happened to me? Why can't I remember anything since walking out of the flat last night!?" John was completely freaking out, although the sight of someone familiar was helping him to calm down.

"John, listen to me. You were in an accident last night. You received a concussion, a broken arm, and cracked ribs. You need to calm down before you make yourself pass out from the pain. You were being a hero for Mary. Do you remember Mary?" Sherlock said gently. John wasn't up for normal Sherlock. This was delicate.

"Mary…Mary? I think I remember Mary. She was beautiful." John started to calm down, and stopped struggling to sit up. Sherlock let him go as John's brain started to work again, rather than blindly panicking.

As if her name summoned her, Mary walked through the door, with a nurse right behind, insisting she leave.

Mary turned to her and calmly said, "I appreciate that you are doing your job, however, this man is here because of me, and I will not be leaving. Thank you." The nurse just stared at her for a moment, looking like she was going to argue. Sherlock decided to intervene.

"She is here at my request, Miss. I was just getting John to calm down, and now that effort will be wasted with you in here squawking about rules. Now get out." He stated, as calmly as he could.

Sherlock ushered her towards the door, snapping it shut in the poor woman's face. He turned to look at Mary, a question written on his face.

"Lestrade called me. He told the nurse to call him as well, with any changes, and knew you probably wouldn't be bothered to call me. Or that's how he put it." Mary half shrugged as she met Sherlock's eyes. "He actually said it would never cross your mind, but I rather thought it would."

"Wait, you're…Mary. I kind of remember that. You seem familiar anyway. Why can't I remember this! I should be able to remember at least something! You have no idea how frustrating this is Sherlock!" John suddenly stated, obviously becoming more distraught with the appearance of Mary, and his inability to remember her.

"John has mild amnesia, it would seem." Sherlock said to Mary. Continuing to John, "It's perfectly normal to have amnesia after a concussion. You should recover your memory, though it just shows how severe it really was. Now, stop beating yourself up about it. You did, after all, save Ms. Morstan." Sherlock indicated Mary, before turning back to John. He assessed his friend's condition, before striding to the door. "I'll go and see the doctor about releasing you."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

||Hey guys! I realized that I hadn't thanked everyone for reviewing last time! So thank you from the bottom of my heart! (Why the bottom? Why not the top? Interesting phrase…) And Floratang-I'm going to have to ask you to trust me. I have a plan, although it may not seem like it now. ||

Sherlock stood at the nurse's desk, trying in vain to catch someone's attention. He was trying not to get irritated, however it seemed like they were ignoring him on purpose. He watched them carefully, deducing that they were indeed ignoring him, but not because of _him_. He was puzzled, until he noticed a nurse, the nurse he told off in fact, quietly closing the door to John's room.

_Ah, that's it then, endeavoring to give John and Mary time to re-acquaint. Well lets behave then, I won't get anywhere with anyone now apparently. _

John stared at Mary. His struggle to remember her clearly written on his face. He wanted, desperately, to remember her. He looked; occasionally get a snap of memory, how she looked when she laughed, and the way she focused completely sometimes — like now. He realized he had been staring at her for far too long. And she was staring back at him, concern and humor warring on her features. The humor seemed to be directed, not at him, but at the huffy Sherlock that could be heard through the closing door.

She glanced over her shoulder just as the nurse poked her head in to make sure John was comfortable. The nurse paused and nodded conspiratorially. Mary smiled as she turned back to John.

"I know you don't remember me, and that's ok. This just gives us a chance for a second first date right?" she asked laughingly. She smiled gently at John. "You were very brave last night, even if you don't recall. You pushed me out of the way of a car. I should be where you are, and I can't adequately express how grateful I am to you." She took his hand in hers, looking at him with such care in her eyes, he felt like she wanted to hug him, but didn't want to hurt him.

"Thank you for understanding. I'm starting to get flashes. I can remember you laughing, at something last night. We were walking I think? I recall that, as clear as day. You looked so beautiful…so carefree and happy. Then this happened. Now, I don't know anymore…." John said, sighing.

"Hey now, why are you acting like that? You know there's no need. I basically just asked you on another date. So cheer up, yeah?" Mary leaned forward and took his hand again, rubbing the back of it absently.

"Have you ever heard the phrase 'doctors make horrid patients'? Well I'm not happy about being stuck in this bed, that's all. It's not you that's bothering me. If SHERLOCK WOULD HURRY UP AND GET ME RELEASED, I'd feel better." John shouted the last of it towards the door, startling Mary.

Dissolving into laughter, she stood up and told him. "I'll go get you released then. Since everyone seems to be taking their time today." She left, still laughing. Sherlock was sitting in a chair near the door, looking rather put out.

"They are all ignoring me. Even after John yelled at me, they won't stop ignoring me." He seemed confused, unable to comprehend why the nurses were ignoring him.

"Oh Sherlock, that's what happens when you're rude to a nurse. All of them ignore you. Poor thing." She said to Sherlock, and then turned to the nurse's station. Without a word, a nurse handed her the discharge papers.

"You're still coming on for your shift tonight, right?" the nurse asked.

"Oh of course, Kris. Thank you for staying later for me today. I'll be here at 7 o' clock, promise." She said.

Mary started to walk back into John's room, when Sherlock intercepted her. "You're a nurse? Why didn't I know that?"

"Oh Sherlock, it's been quite a day for you, between John and Irene. It's understandable for you to miss some things." She smiled at his look, and walked into the room.

"Please tell me you have my papers. I'm ready to walk out without them at this point." John said, getting more irritated by the moment. He was surprised to see her reading his papers, apparently checking the aftercare. "What are you doing?"

"I take it you haven't remembered that I'm a nurse, then. I'm checking what you have to do, and that you'll be able to do it on your own." Mary said matter of factly.

John gaped at her, before regaining his composure and shutting his mouth. He tried to sit up, groaned, and lay back down. Sherlock was immediately there, murmuring to john about being careful, that he'd help him up. They took it slowly, first with Sherlock supporting john as he sat up. They stayed like that while Mary took the papers to the doctor.

"Alright, you're cleared to go. A nurse is bringing in a wheelchair for you. How's your head?" Mary asked John

"I feel like I've been hit by a car, but I'll be ok. Could use an aspirin, though. Do I have to take the wheelchair?" John said.

"Have you tried standing up yet? No? Try that first, then we'll see what you think if the wheelchair."

John stood, and then promptly fell. Sherlock just managed to catch him. John shook his head in defeat. He sat in the chair the nurse brought in, and consented to being wheeled out.

They left the hospital, and got a cab for 221B. Mrs. Hudson greeted them at the door, and immediately started fussing over John. They got him up the stairs, and settled into bed. Sherlock ushered everyone out, saying that John needed his sleep. After he got them out, he returned to John's room.

"Do you need anything John? Tea, perhaps?" Sherlock asked, looking concerned.

"A cuppa would be great, thank you." John paused. "Sherlock, thank you for…well everything today. I know I'm not the best patient and—"

Sherlock interrupted him. "That's quite enough, John. I'll get the tea, and you rest." He left, going to the kitchen to make tea.


End file.
